Chapter 10

April, capricious, yet beautiful child of Spring, once more smiled upon the bleak shores and sterile plains which, when we last beheld them, were encompassed by the chilling atmosphere, and loomed bleak and desolate beneath the sombre sky of, to that land at least, unpropitious winter.

Welcome to all the inhabitants of that rude coast, the return of the season was hailed with pleasure the deepest, the liveliest, with gratitude as warm as ever expanded the human heart, by her whom, an exile from her native shores, had been compelled to sojourn for a season on its rocky and cheerless wastes. Five months had now elapsed since, rescued by the kind-hearted sailors, Agnes had become an inmate of the fisherman's cottage, and these months had seemed to her like a separate existence, so widely had their experience differed from that of her accustomed every-day life.

But deem not, gentle reader, that they had been spent by her in sinful repining at the hardships of her lot. During the first part of her sojourn among them, severe sickness, caused no doubt by previous exposure and anxiety, had prostrated her system, and brought her to the very borders of the grave, but through the unremitting care of Mrs. Williamson and her daughter, she was restored to health; and full of gratitude to heaven for this double preservation of her life, which had been thus vouchsafed, her first inquiry was, how she could best return the debt of gratitude due to her Father in Heaven, and those through whose kindly instrumentality she was thus raised up again. Nor was she long in ascertaining the path of duty, nor hesitating in commencing and pursuing it with eagerness.

One day, soon after her recovery, she was sitting by the fire, when Ellen, the fisherman's daughter, to whom we have before alluded, entered the room, and observing that Agnes looked somewhat downcast, kindly inquired the cause, for the gratitude she had manifested for every little act of kindness, had deeply endeared her to those with whom she was now associated.

"I hope you do not feel any worse, dear lady," she said.

"Oh, no, Ellen," was the reply, while a smile instantly dissipated the shadow that had obscured for a moment her countenance. "And how deeply grateful should I feel," she added after a short pause, "first to my Heavenly Father, and then to you and your kind family, whose unwearied care and attention have been so instrumental in my recovery; and I trust yet to have it in my power to show my sense of your kindness."

"Don't, Miss Wiltshire, please don't say anything more. Why, we only did what any persons, with common feelings, would have done."

"Nevertheless," persisted Agnes, "I feel under very great obligations to you all. But I will tell you what made me look a little melancholy when you came in. Your father informed me, this morning, that there would be no possibility of my communicating with my home until spring, and thus my relatives and friends, not having any intelligence of me, for so long a time, will certainly believe that I have found a watery grave."

"But when you return home, what a delightful surprise they will get; why, it would be worth enduring months of pain for," said Ellen, who seemed to have the happy faculty of always looking at the bright side.

"Very true, Ellen, but"--and an involuntary sigh followed the sentence--"you know not, and I trust will never know, from experience, that 'Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.'"

"I know something about that, too, Miss Agnes, though maybe you think me too young; but, indeed, there was once a weary while, when I watched the sea day after day, that is, when the scalding tears would let me see it, and shuddered to hear the fierce winds moaning round our dwelling, as though they had a human heart, and sighed and raved for some lost love. Oh, how I remember the day, when that long-looked for vessel came back again, for I had got up more down-hearted than ever, and I thought it no use hoping and waiting, for I shall never see it again,--and then the salt sea was not salter than the tears I shed, as I sat down on a rock by the shore, and thought of the stalwart form that would never meet my eye again, and of the kind voice that should never sound in my ears,--and as I looked on the sea, its bright waves rippling and smiling beneath my feet, it seemed to laugh and mock me cruelly, and I almost wished myself,--I know it was very wicked, Miss Agnes,--far, far beneath it, where I should forget my troubles, and my heart cease its aching. And then I laid my head on the rock, and covered my face with my hands, and cried as though I should never cease, until I felt something touch my face, and a voice that I knew too well said, 'Ellen, Ellen, what art thou breaking thy heart for in this manner?'--and I looked up, and saw two eyes, that, a moment before, I thought death had closed, shining brightly on me, and--but you have seen him yourself, Miss Agnes, and can easy guess how happy I was. Oh, it made up for all my weary days, and wretched, sleepless nights."

Agnes had listened with much interest to the simple narrative, and while her eyes filled with tears, she murmured, almost unconsciously,

"One touch of nature makes the whole world kin."

We would not like to vouch for it, but, perhaps, while Ellen had been speaking, with the remembrance of her relatives, another image had arisen in her mind, and she thought, "And he, too, he will hear of what they will deem my terrible fate."

There was pleasure, mingled with pain, as her heart suggested, that eyes, albeit unused to weep, might even now be shedding a tear over her untimely doom; for Arthur did not, could not, conceal the deep interest he felt in her welfare; and as she called to mind his kindness, his sympathy, when all the world seemed dark to her, she felt her heart thrill with strange emotion, and she asked herself, again and again, "Shall I ever be so happy as to see him once more?"

"Mr. Elliot is, indeed," said she, in reply to Ellen, after a short pause, "worthy of you, as far as I have had an opportunity of judging, and that is saying a good deal, Ellen. But I must tell you what I was thinking of, this morning, while I sat here alone. You told me, the other day, that the children of the neighborhood were growing up in fearful ignorance, destitute, as they are, of a teacher, and I thought, if it met with the approbation of their parents, that I could not be more usefully or happily employed, during the time that must intervene before I have an opportunity of returning to my friends, than instructing those little ones, a few hours each day. Our evenings, too, might be pleasantly occupied, for I overheard you, when I was lying ill, expressing a wish to know how to write, and these long winter evenings will afford abundant opportunity for your taking lessons, and any of your young companions, that may wish to join you."

Ellen was delighted with the proposition, and warmly expressed her thanks, and Agnes's wishes were speedily carried into effect. A small unoccupied cottage was fitted up as a school-house, to which all the children of the neighborhood, far and near, daily repaired, while at night the young people of both sex filled the good-sized room of Mr. Williamson's dwelling, thirsting for that instruction which Agnes was so willing to impart. Nor did her efforts end here. Of pastoral guidance these poor people were equally destitute; as sheep without a shepherd, they had long "stumbled on the dark mountains of sin and error," but now each Sabbath morning found them congregated in the school-house, singing the hymns that some of them had learned in childhood, in their distant native lands, or listening to the sweet tones of their teacher and guide, as she explained, by many simple and touching illustrations, the sacred Word, or offered up the fervent prayer, which from her lips seemed to come with double power, and caused even the sturdy fishermen's hearts to melt within them. The afternoon of the sacred day was especially devoted to the children; classes were formed, over which the most intelligent members of the community presided, conspicuous among whom was Ellen, whose naturally quick and clever mind, brought into contact with one so superior as Agnes, rapidly developed, while her whole appearance gave indications of how much she had profited by constant intercourse with her youthful companion.

Ellen's parents were not natives of the land in which she now resided. They had come from one of the counties of England, when Ellen was little more than an infant; their original destination being Canada, but having been wrecked on the Newfoundland coast, and lost nearly all they possessed, they had not means to travel farther; and while Williamson gladly joined the fishermen in their occupation for the purpose of temporarily supplying the necessities of his family, his wife,--who was a skilful needle woman, and clever at almost everything,--made herself generally useful among their families, and thus acquired much influence over them.

Gradually they came to look upon the sterile coast, unlike, strangely unlike though it was, to the cultivated lands they had left, as their home, at least for some years to come. Both frugal and industrious, a little cottage was speedily erected, which very soon, from the superior thrift and neatness of its owners, became the best in the place, and as time passed on, they not only continued to gain a subsistence, but succeeded in gathering round them many little comforts, which were the admiration and, sometimes, the envy of their less fortunate neighbors. From time to time, Mr. Williamson was in the habit of taking a quantity of their chief export, fish, to H----, and obtaining, in lieu of it, plentiful supplies of food and clothing; and, what his wife and daughter had prized more than all, in returning from his last voyage, he had brought with him a few school-books, with some entertaining works, and several volumes of interesting and evangelical sermons.

Mrs. Williamson, who was the daughter of a small farmer, had, in her youth, received the elements of a good English education. She could read with tolerable fluency, and had taught her children this important branch; but though, when a child, she had learned to write, want of practice and varied duties connected with her toilsome condition, had almost erased the power from memory; and it was with deep regret at her own neglect, that she found her children growing up as ignorant, as herself, of the power of communicating their thoughts through the medium of the pen. It was, therefore, with no small delight, that she had hailed Agnes's welcome offer; and as she sat, evening after evening, in her corner by the fireside, apparently busily engaged in knitting, but, in reality, an attentive listener to the instruction Agnes was imparting to the young people,--or as she mingled her tones with theirs who, on the Sabbath, warbled, from hearts attuned to devotion, those melodies that had been familiar to her from childhood,--again and again, would memory revert to the happy days of her infancy and youth, when with beloved parents and friends she had gone up to the house of God, and while a tear of sorrow and penitence would steal down her cheeks, to think how much of the instructions, then received, had been forgotten, she blessed the Parental Hand that had placed beneath her roof, one so fitted to counsel and comfort, to prove to her, as well as to many others, a ministering angel indeed.

Thus, happily and usefully employed, the winter months glided by comparatively swiftly to Agnes. Not that the past was forgotten,--not that she never sighed for more congenial society, for the friends of her early youth, or even for the refinement and luxuries by which she had been surrounded,--that would be affirming too much, for she had a genuine woman's heart, and that innate perception and love of the beautiful, which delights in the elegancies and embellishments of life, and could not as easily accommodate itself, as some could, to a situation where those are wholly wanting.

There were hours when she felt herself an exile, indeed; hours when Ellen's young companions would flock to the cottage, and talk and laugh over subjects in which it was impossible for Agnes to feel any interest; it was then, more especially perhaps, she thought of home, and of the educated and refined society in which she had been accustomed to mingle, and realized more fully the wide gulf dividing her from those among whom Providence had so mysteriously, as it seemed, placed her. But think not, fair reader, such considerations were allowed to influence her conduct, or render her manner haughty and disagreeable. It is true she was treated with consideration and respect by the female part of the community; they could not help looking upon her as a being of another and higher sphere, and her presence had often the effect of checking the tide of rude mirth, and of rendering their demeanor more quiet and retired. But while she thus claimed their admiration and reverence, she at the same time almost unconsciously won their affection, for on her lip was ever the law of kindness, and the interest she took in their humble pursuits, the ready counsel and sympathy in every case of emergency and sorrow, endeared her deeply to them, and her efforts to impart instruction were received with all the genuine gratitude of unsophisticated Nature, so that these portions of her time, devoted to the training of those uncultivated minds, were the ones which afforded to Agnes the purest pleasure; seasons which she often recurred to in other years, as being among the most agreeable in her experience.

But the dreary Winter at length gave place to smiling Spring, and Agnes began to look forward anxiously for an opportunity of returning home. She scarce allowed herself to dwell on the matter, so intense became her anxiety as the time drew near for leaving the hospitable home which had so long afforded her rude but safe protection.

The young sailor, Agnes's preserver, who had been long affianced to Ellen, had just returned from a very successful sea-voyage.

In a few days they were to be united; a minister, who resided at some distance in the interior of the country, being expected to visit them, and perform the ceremony; and Agnes, much to the delight of Ellen, had promised to officiate as bridesmaid. In a few weeks subsequent the groomsman intended sailing to B----, and Agnes would then have an opportunity of returning once more to her home.